Shadows of Whitechapel
by Desert Starvine
Summary: A shadow walker, a winged girl, Jack the Ripper, and Sherlock Holmes. The most innocent may indeed be of the shadows..


(Okay, so this is my first story with author notes. I'm not really sure how to do the line thing, so I'll just put them in parenthesis. I know that Sherlock doesn't show up in this chapter, and this chapter is kind of boring, but bear with me- this is just the somewhat long intro. Please review!)

"Coming!" I shouted, while I pulled down that dreadful starched collar just a bit. I hate these kind of dresses. Why can't I just wear something comfortable? But mother will have her way, so there's nothing to do but just weather through it. That doesn't make it any less awful, but she would disagree. I finally arrived in the parlor just as mother was making her majestic way out of it. She turned around, and pushed her horn- rimmed spectacles farther up on her nose.

"We're going to be late," she announced briskly, then swept out the door. I followed in her wake, letting my white skirts trail in the dust. Mother noticed, of course she would, since she's just that kind of person. "Victoria! The doctor can't see you like that! I spent all afternoon washing that dress from the last time you stepped in the mud, and now it's filthy again!"

"Sorry, mother. But I don't see why I have to visit the doctor anyway. These wings aren't going to go away, and I have a perfectly healthy composure," I whined.

"Don't say that, Victoria. Don't say that. I've spent all these years trying to get rid of them somehow, now you reprimand me for even trying to get rid of that awful mutation of yours. You are not a bird; you are a human. You live in a perfectly comfortable house, and have no need for the things."

"But mother, these are part of my life, even if they can be a nuisance. They are beautiful wings, and flying allows me freedom. I wish you could understand. I wish you could take to the air with me. I really do." She turned, mouth slightly opened, as if to say something. It was just a moment, standing looking at me, but something on her face had weakened, almost like a mask that finally slid off. But then mother turned around abruptly, closing her mouth and stepping up into the phaeton. I followed suit, soon forgetting about that moment as the phaeton rattled down the cobbled streets of London.

It was about nine, but the city was full of life, merchants selling their wares, urchins threading their way through the crowd to snatch an orange from a fruit stand. Cutpurses slinked through the throngs of people, flattening the purses of unwary travelers. Ladies in their best Sunday dresses paraded majestically through the streets, arm- in- arm with gentlemen in top hats and black suits. Occasionally they'd stop to toss a coin or two to the ragged beggars that languished in the corners, eyes dull and empty. So life in the city went on, bustling and noisy, and I wished to descend to the streets to speak with those people. People so close to me, yet utterly unreachable. It was a little daydream of mine. But Mother's afraid, afraid that I'll fly away and ruin her precious reputation. So for now, all I can do is watch. And wait for an opportunity to steal away from our manor in London.

Mother kept her icy silence while I stared eagerly out the side of the phaeton, only speaking to announce that we had arrived at our destination, and informing me haughtily that I was to be on my best behavior. As we alighted from the phaeton, I glared angrily at the back of her head, trying desperately to find some fault in her sunbonnet. She chided me as if I were still a child, and not a lady of fifteen years. Despite my diminutive height, I was a lady, and deserved to be treated as such. But I had never complained to mother about that- she wouldn't listen, I was sure. I carefully lifted my skirts above the filth of the streets as we walked into the doctor's office, actually heeding Mother's advice this time. I didn't mind dust, but there was more than dust on the filthy London streets.

Mother opened the quaint wooden door to the office somewhat viciously, and a small amount of dust fell from the old door as she did so. The nameplate on the door, which read _Robert Baker, a Doctor for Especially Curious Ailments, _rattled slightly, tilting to one side. As mother stepped daintily inside the threshold, I stayed behind, getting another glimpse of the streets. Just a moment ago, I'd seen a flash of crimson and silver out of the corner of my eye, but now the streets revealed nothing but the normal drab colors of city life. Peering across the street, I saw the flash of crimson again. It was some sort of overcoat, threading through the crowd around a juggler.

As I started towards the mysteriously attired figure, Mother's voice called me back to the doctor's office. "Victoria! Hurry up, we're already late. Reluctantly, I traipsed back to the door, pausing to straighten the nameplate that hung there so crookedly. The door was heavy, and I found it quite difficult to open. As I strode confidently into the dim room, the hem of my skirt caught on the threshold, and I tumbled to the floor in a heap of frilly skirts, sunbonnet, and parasol. It was a humiliatingly undignified position, and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. I sat up, fussily straightening and smoothing down my now crumpled and dusty skirt, and carefully detaching it from the threshold. Footsteps echoed in the small room, the sound of polished black shoes hitting the wooden floor. But when a voice sounded, offering to help me up, it was not the thin, creaky voice of Dr. Baker, the withered old man that ran the office. Looking up, I blushed again on seeing the owner of the gloved hand extended to me. He was a young man, not much older than myself, perhaps eighteen or so. Messy hair that was somewhere between a dark grey and a light black hung over the glasses perched on his nose. His face was rather handsome, but it was his eyes that really stood out. A mellow green, they were deep and seemed to be full of some mysterious light. After a moment's hesitation, I took the gloved hand and stood. Mother glared at me from the couch.

The young man bowed graciously to me. "Let me introduce myself. I am Allister," he paused for a moment, then noticing his slight breach in etiquette, corrected himself. "I mean, Dr. Allister Burne. Doctor Baker is... ah... _indisposed_ currently, and so he...erm...told me to take over the practice until he feels well again." Allister pushed a few strands of hair out of his face, pushed up his glasses, and sighed. "May I inquire who you two ladies are? The old man- er, I mean, Doctor Baker didn't tell me much about any of his patients." I looked at him dubiously. He didn't seem very... professional.

My mother spoke first. "I am Mrs. Gertrude Shade. And this is my daughter-"

I interrupted swiftly, eager to introduce myself. "Victoria Shade. My name's Victoria Shade."

A darkness seemed to come over his face then, his shadow growing a little darker, and his lovely green eyes appeared to flash almost red for a moment. I stepped back, frightened by the strange effect my words had. He turned his head to one side abruptly, and when he looked back at me, his handsome face had returned to normal, a somewhat forced smile appearing on it. I decided that the curious incident of a moment ago had been a trick of the light. "So you're the one with the wings."

"Yes, I'm afraid that's me," I said sadly, looking down at my feet. Mother was glaring daggers at me. His voice had a foreign accent, but I couldn't be quite sure where it was from.

"If you would follow me to the examination room, Miss Shade..." Allister then walked out of the room, not waiting for me to follow. I hurried after him into the shadowy hallway, hastily throwing my fallen parasol at Mother. She sighed impassively, pushed her horn- rimmed spectacles farther up on her hawk-like nose, and pulled a book out of her handbag.

When I reached the examination room, Allister was sitting on a somewhat dusty wooden chair, scribbling something in a notebook that he tucked away inside his jacket when I entered. "Take a seat." Gesturing to the stool opposite him, he pulled out a different notebook from his jacket. An awkward silence prevailed for several minutes while he wrote in the small, black, leather notebook, then he looked up. "Just writing down some particulars. Would you mind if I conducted a brief examination of your wings?" I let out a sigh of resignation. Now he would think I was a mutant. A monster. Like everyone else, even my mother, thought. But there was no helping it, so I turned around, unlaced the back of my dress, and unfurled my wings.

I thought the wings were pretty enough. They were small, slightly shorter than my arm, but yet they somehow still managed to carry me into the air. I suppose if they were white and made of downy feathers, people would have thought me an angel. No one would have hated me then. But my wings aren't white. Dark metal feathers, sharp as knives, they look almost demonic. That's why I have to keep them a secret. That's why Mother keeps _me_ a secret. And now Allister would think me a monster, too. I grimaced, bracing myself for the horrified gasp or exclamation of surprise. But it didn't come.

Silence hung heavily in the air for a moment, then Allister spoke, his tone less businesslike than before. "They're extraordinary. Quite extraordinary." I held my breath, hoping that the wonder in his tone wouldn't turn into disgust. The silence lasted for a moment, and I wished that he would say something else, but when he talked again, his comments were on purely medical grounds.

He proceeded to ask me some rather random questions about my condition as I laced up the back of my dress, then gave me some useless medication. I let out a small sigh as I stood up from the stool, hoping that Dr. Baker would be sick again for my next appointment. Allister was so very handsome... and at least he didn't think I was a monster. He gallantly kissed my gloved hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. I hope our paths cross again." I was blushing furiously, struggling to get a word out, and was rather flustered. That's when I heard the gunshot.


End file.
